There Are Only So Many


There are only so many sunsets, we can receive into our lives,

it’s a shame really, we can’t reach out and touch them.

Then again, they are able to fill us

with so much light and hope.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies


The Rider


There was no saddle, as he gently nudged the horse forward – his favorite, the black and white, long mane so graceful. He shifted slightly, as he looked up and in one magnificent motion, they lunged – attacking the hill, the horse snorting his approval.

They aimed for the ridge, passing the pine trees and spruce. The smell overcame his leather. Higher and higher they climbed, with the muscles of the horse rippling, straining, hooves digging into the earth and rock.

And then they were at the top, where the large oak was on fire with yellow and red. And the eagle waited patiently in the oak, as he had promised. But it was the hawk that gently landed on his  shoulder, that encouraged him the most.

It was then that the poet knew, he was home again.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies

What I Used to Write…


By avoiding the leftover scars, I often wrote with the hawks

a heart filled with the mountains, eagle’s wings

and Native Americans running strong.

But Thunder Speaking doesn’t

live here now.


Songs of My Love will always lift me

and the oceans call, with a few older people

looking beyond the horizon.


But to be honest I wonder how many more poems

and how many more battles I can still face

without the mountains in my heart

and eagle’s wings unfolding.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies

The Little Golden Flower


All around her was dying, and her great love, the hydrangea,

had long since gone, but she was determined to not let go of the sun

and the story is told, a legend really, among the flowers

of autumn, how she held on past the first snow

finally drifting off to sleep until

the next spring.


Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies